Gabe Kapler

If you haven’t heard it by now, Gabe Kapler’s impromptu interview this morning with Angelo Cataldi on the 94 WIP Morning Show was quite good. Angelo, despite his many, MANY detractions, knows what makes good radio and can conduct a hell of an interview.

Kapler and Cataldi go back and forth over a recent Cataldi column in “Philly Voice,” in which Cataldi criticizes the way GM Matt Klentak put together this year’s roster, going as far as to call Klentak “incompetent.”

Is he wrong? Maybe not, but the team was never viewed as contending this year and did outperform a Vegas win prediction several games. They did have a 14-win improvement over the abominable 2017 season and seem to be trending in the right direction.

Kapler of course defends his team and the GM, sparring with Cataldi over a very interesting and professionally conducted 13 minute interview.

But here’s where my skin bristles and the bile rises in the back of my throat.

“It is time,” a gravelly voice says from the back of the clubhouse. Alone, Gabe Kapler looks up, startled. The players had long since left the clubhouse, returning to their hotels, hoping to sleep before facing the reality of tomorrow, of another the swinging blade inching closer to their prone bodies. The manager had stayed long after the last player had cleared out, his head in his hand, staring at nothing, at everything, wondering how it had all gone downhill so very, very fast.

But he was no longer alone. The shrouded figure moved closer, almost gliding, its robe unrustled, unmoving as he shortened the gap between himself and the fearful manager. The figure extended a bony, pale white hand to an ashen Kapler, looming over the coach, the sharpened blade of a sickle dangerously dangling over his head.

“It is time,” the figure simply repeated.

“I’m dead?!” Kapler asked.

“No. It is time for this season to end,” the figure said calmly, its face obscured by the tattered hood that hung loosely about the deity. Light, color, everything was seemingly absorbed into the hood, drawn into the nothingness. Nothing escaped from the abyss behind the hood.

“But, we have another month and a half left. There is so much left to be done, so much I wanted to do. I wanted to bat Kingery in the cleanup position at least once,” Kapler said.

“The end waits for no season. I’m afraid this is quite final, and no amount of lineup tinkering is going to turn this around,” the figure said.

“I….I challenge you to a game of chess! One game. One more chance to get this right, to keep our hopes alive,” Kapler stammered.

It’s Christmas morning in the City of Philadelphia. The Eagles unwrap one of the huge, festive boxes at their feet and squeal with glee. It’s a PS4. It will go perfect with the XBox One. The 76ers scream in happiness as the city presents them with a new 52-inch flat-screen television for their room.

The Phillies are gifted a nondescript, manila envelope containing a $50 check made out to cash.

Nobody even remembers to wake the Flyers up. Nobody cares about the Flyers.

Oh those poor Phillies. A game out of first place, already eclipsed the win total from 2017, and it’s like it doesn’t even matter. Why lavish any attention on the runt of the litter when the golden boys, the favored children, the HEIRS to the Philadelphia empire, are around?

It’s not fair. The Phillies are talented. They’re competing. They should be loved and adored. Instead, they’re asked to take care of “this mess” while the Eagles and 76ers get to play with their new toys.

What day is it? Why, it’s Friday the 13th day, sir! And as we are want to do at the Coggin, we take a moment to reflect on this glorious day and ask ourselves the age old question: “Which Philadelphia sports figure would survive if he or she found themselves in the Friday the 13th horror series?”

Jason Voorhees is out there, sharpening up that machete, loading his spear gun, and getting ready to crush some skulls.

Like all horror movie franchises well into their fourth sequel, we’re just cashing in right now and fully expect this to be terrible. We’re just doing it for the money at this point and really sticking it to our hardcore fans.

The home opener went about as expected. Phillies beat a minor league Marlins squad 5-0 on a blustery opening day. Gabe got the ever loving shit booed out of him by the Phillies Phaithful, likely shedding manlytears behind the safety of his reflective aviator sunglasses as his muscular heart broke in twain. Nick Williams

But the most interesting nugget to come out of the home opener? Let Todd Zolecki fill you in on the new clubhouse routine after a win.

It's a whole new Phillies clubhouse. Victories now include fog machine, lasers and strobe lights. "It's not just a business, it's a game," J.P. Crawford said. "You've got to win and when you win you've got to have fun," Tommy Hunter said.

No, really. What the hell did we just see? Fifteen pitchers used in the first two games of the season (an MLB record, one of the bad ones), which forced the Phillies to address the ALREADY TAXED bullpen (on game 2) by contemplating a roster move to bring up an additional pitcher for Saturday’s game.

Kapler trotted out to the mound over the weekend like a man who realized he had forgotten about cardio training for the last 15 years of his life.

But somehow, SOMEHOW that wasn’t even the worst part of the weekend. The worst part was watching Gabe Kapler’s brain fog over from inhaling too much fermented sloth piss (it does wonders to balance your Chi) before the game and summon Hoby Milner in relief for third inning during Saturday’s bloodbath DESPITE the lefty having not thrown a warmup pitch.

What was he expecting Milner to do, kick the ball to home plate? This led to crew chief Jerry Lane openly chastising Kapler for his incredible amounts of incompetence in managing the Phillies in the third game of his career.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen an umpire openly go into a manager on the record for putting his athletes in danger of being injured.

The Phillies reportedly hired themselves some Grade-A American beef over the weekend, tabbing former Los Angeles exec and muscled adonis Gabe Kapler as the franchise’s next manager.

Kapler is expected to bring cutting-edge sports science techniques to the clubhouse, a willingness to take risks, and an unfettered beauty that will force thousands of straight men in the area to take a long, uncomfortable look at their own sexual identities.

Good god, just look at him. LOOK AT THAT PUNIM! That is a face you can bring home to momma.

You could grate cheese on those abs, cheese that Gabe wouldn’t eat because you can’t get abs like that if you’re constantly eating the cheese that you’ve grated off your own abs. Lets get serious.

He has a face that looks like it has been sculpted from a pure block of marble, crafted by the finest old-world Italian craftsmen that have ever walked upon this earth.

Wives and girlfriends will be wondering while their husbands and boyfriends are staying up late AGAIN to watch the Phillies this summer.

“You were up REALLY late last night…were you watching the Phillies again? They lost 10-2…what the hell were you doing?”

“Nothing, ok? Just shut up. Oh, don’t clear out the DVR, I taped the game.”